


Prince of Queens

by AngelusErrare



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelusErrare/pseuds/AngelusErrare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when he thinks the Darkness is finished throwing surprises at him, two more land on Saetan's doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Too-Quiet Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during Jaenelle's 19th year, during a time gap in Queen of the Darkness.  
> I've never written Black Jewels fic. I'm really worried about keeping characters true to themselves and would have asked someone to beta read, but as it turns out the person I trust most to beta for me wanted to be surprised.  
> Kalvarian is pronounced kal-veh-ree-en.

SaDiablo Hall, for its immense size and many splendors, was utterly silent. Lucivar, his Eyrien son, was pacing the grounds. Not a single servant scurried, and Mr. Beale, the Red-Jeweled Warlord who served as butler, was notably absent from the entrance hall. Not a sound could be heard coming from the great kitchens that were the undisputed territory of Beale's formidable wife. No blustering merchants or even slightly befuddled passers-by had attempted to break down the door. Outdoors, there were none of the usual sounds from the kindred-- no howls or playful wuffs and barks from the wolves; no nickering from the horses or Kaetien, the unicorn Warlord Prince who took it into his own hooves to watch over the other kindred; no barks from Ladvarian, the Sceltie Warlord with the uncanny ability to easily explain the ways of the humans to the kindred and vice versa; and unsurprisingly, not a sound from Kaelas.

Perhaps the most disturbing was the lack of noise coming from the attics, the public drawing room, the Hall's courtyards, or any private room.

_Is it too much to hope,_ Saetan wondered, turning a page in the book he was reading, _that whatever has them so focused will turn out to be harmless?_

Of course it was. Anything that could keep the entire coven and the boyos occupied for more than an hour in complete silence had absolutely no chance of being innocent. He just hoped the Darkness would be merciful this time around and whatever damage the young witches and boyos caused wouldn't result in too many people demanding explanations.

He could handle the migraines. He could handle the side effects of their tonics, and he was well equipped to pay for any damages they were capable of causing.

What he couldn't handle was the identical innocent look on so many faces when they tried to explain exactly what they had been intending to do and the genuine confusion from his and every other male in the Hall's reaction to whatever result had come of it.

And so, instead of leaving to investigate the silence that had come over the Hall-- a silence that had been unheard of for the past four summers since the Hall had become the home-away-from-home for the sixteen teenagers who called Jaenelle their dearest friend-- the High Lord of Hell, a man whose temper and power had been feared in the Realms for more than 50,000 years, tucked himself away in his private study trying to distract himself from the uneasiness that he couldn't brush off.

He wasn’t hiding so much as deliberately staying very much out of the way, a book in hand providing a convenient excuse. His golden eyes scanned the pages without taking in their contents while he waited for the inevitable storm. He was sure it was a wonderful book; the first few pages had been quite interesting. He just wouldn't be able to sit down and actually read it for several more hours.

As a chorus of warning-- or were they greeting?-- howls rose up outside, he closed the book, steepled his long fingers together, and waited.

He didn't have to wait very long. He felt the strength of the Ebon-gray's anger long before Lucivar's fist pounded his door, before the Eyrien burst into the room and stalked over to his desk. There had been a time once when not a soul had dared to knock on his door, much less throw it open without invitation. Eleven years ago, those days had become little more than a fond memory.

Saetan settled his face into a neutral mask before he met the blazing gold eyes of his son. He almost wanted to laugh until Lucivar snarled, "There's a Queen outside the Hall. She wants to see the coven."

"How old a Queen?" asked Saetan calmly. Whether she was as old as the coven or an adult, that didn't explain Lucivar's reaction. Unless the Queen was from Terreille, the Eyrien had no reason to be angered by the arrival of a Queen. He was a Warlord Prince; his instinct was to protect.

"Young, and frightened," Lucivar replied after a short pause, "but she's not alone. Her companion is the one who made the demand."

That piqued his interest. "Her companion?" he quietly asked.

"A young Warlord Prince."

Saetan had a fleeting moment of deja vu. Three years ago, sixteen youngsters had practically turned up on his doorstep demanding Jaenelle. The only difference now was that this particular Queen hadn't attempted to break down the front door, or sent messages first demanding Jaenelle’s response.

When the coven, the boyos, and the kindred first made themselves known at the hall, Saetan had rapidly learned that he and Andulvar were not the only Warlord Princes who were attached to their fair-haired Lady. Jaenelle had brought together many people from many backgrounds, and they formed the most unlikely bonds. Four Warlord Princes and three Warlords, along with nine Queens, two of whom were natural Healers and Black Widows as well, and Jaenelle had brought them all together without bloodshed or rivalry.

Any other witch from Terrielle would have abused such a gift. Jaenelle nurtured it without trying.

"High Lord," Lucivar growled, and Saetan arched an eyebrow.

Standing, he sighed. "Perhaps we should greet our guests."

They had barely stepped out the door when the Ebon-gray flared again, but it wasn't Lucivar. Andulvar was pacing outside of the study, his membranous wings twitching as he tried to contain his tension, a feat Warlord Princes were not known for. Their aggression was a trait they were taught to respect, to hone even, because it was what allowed them to protect their Queens to the best of their abilities. They were a law unto themselves, and all of that fury came from the single, consuming desire to protect their Queens.

At this rate, he was never going to get out to meet the young Queen.

"Andulvar."

"SaDiablo," his friend growled, turning to face him. "There's a Warlord Prince in the Hall."

"Really," Saetan said dryly, "I hadn't guessed." The psychic scent had indeed moved from outside to in, the ferocity muted somewhat by the power that resonated in the very stones of the Hall. "We were on our way to greet them," he added.

Nodding, Andulvar fell into step beside Saetan and Lucivar, and the High Lord momentarily hoped that perhaps this time around, the Queen wouldn't step on his toes. As they walked, he was made painfully aware that his son was clenching his fists, and his wings were curled tightly against his body. Saetan's own temper was held on a tight leash; there was no need for the great hall to become a killing field.

Not yet, at least.


	2. Sister and Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure how to summarize this chapter, aha.  
> I also spent way too long deliberating about posting this chapter. Admittedly, it's been done since I posted the first one, but I was worried about it not being as good or not progressing well.  
> I almost broke it in two because of the length, but decided it was fine as-is.

It quickly became apparent upon their arrival at the Hall’s entrance that Saetan, Andulvar, and Lucivar were not the first to meet their guests. Three of the boyos had already begun questioning the newcomers, and while Khardeen and Morton were politely curious, Chaosti was face to face with the younger Warlord Prince. He hadn’t bothered to veil his hostility, and as they approached, Saetan felt the power of Chaosti’s Green Jewel welling up, and heard what he assumed was a threat from the Queen.  
He coughed quietly, and five heads turned to stare at him. Only one pair of eyes met his.  
The young Queen-- certainly too young to be a member of the Coven?-- had dark brown hair that was cut short and seemed to have a mind of its own. If not for her feminine figure, Saetan would have mistaken her for the Warlord Prince standing beside her. The snappish manner in which she addressed the boyos led him to glance at her hands, expecting the long nails that would hide a snake tooth. If she wasn’t one of Jaenelle’s childhood friends, she had to be a Black Widow; only one of those formidable witches could butt heads with a Warlord Prince. Her nails, however, were curiously short.  
The High Lord’s gaze returned to the angular face, to the faint red lips that had snarled at Chaosti, and the piercing green eyes that he couldn’t quite pin to a single race. Her simple brown tunic and trousers were caked in dirt, her arms covered in shallow scratches as if she had tumbled into a thorn bush. Her skin was a warm golden brown, except around her thin knuckles, which were bruised, the right ones split open and covered in flaking, dried blood. The Jewel set into the ring she wore on her right middle finger was Purple Dusk, though his attention lingered not on the Jewel, but the dagger hilt she was trying to hide with her hand.  
No wonder Lucivar was tense.  
On the other hand, the Warlord Prince had turned back to quietly watching the three older boys, eyes narrowed. They were the same color as the girl’s, just slightly larger, giving him a more feminine face when combined with the soft jawline of a youth just coming into his age. His left cheek was marred by a long, deep scratch, dark flecks of dried blood peppering his skin. It looked like it had been hastily healed, just enough to stop the bleeding but not enough to close the wound. His long brown hair was tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, running several inches down his back to fall against the dark grey sweater he was wearing. The sleeves were rolled all the way down, his fingertips just barely visible. The soft grey pants he wore were ripped at the knees; knees that were bruised, scraped and just beginning to scab. Wherever the two came from, he hadn’t had time to heal the scratches.  
He wasn’t visibly wearing his Jewels, though he felt like another Purple Dusk. When he turned back to the three older Warlord Princes, he was noticeably more tense, chewing his lower lip as his gaze flicked between them.  
His right hand clenched; Chaosti stepped forward, but before Saetan could do anything to prevent a conflict the young Queen snapped, “You’re the High Lord, aren’t you?”  
There was fear masked beneath the question, a fear she couldn’t hide in those moss colored eyes. Her feet were slightly apart, the one hand still on the hilt of her blade; a youth trying to hide any sense of fragility. Quietly, he answered. “I am. And you are?”  
The girl looked to the boy beside her, who answered, “My name is Kalvarian, and this is Nael.” Lucivar opened his mouth but was stopped by a sharp look from Saetan. They both knew the girl could speak for herself. It wasn’t exactly _against_ Protocol for a Warlord Prince to speak for his Queen, especially in the Hall, but it usually signified the male’s distrust in the health of his Queen.  
*Leash it. He may feel this is how he can best protect her right now.*  
*But Protocol--*  
*Works differently when Jaenelle is involved,* Saetan interrupted, while nodding to the pair before him. “Hello, Lady,” he said, bowing his head to Nael, “and Prince.” Kalvarian met his gaze nervously, but the faint challenge from Warlord Prince to rival remained. With his hand on Nael’s shoulder, and her influence on him, it was less pointed, but there all the same. Kalvarian opened his mouth again, but Nael spoke first.  
“We have business here.”  
Kalvarian nodded. “We would like to see Ladies.”  
“As soon as possible,” said Nael, moving between the two Warlord Princes. She glared at Saetan in a way that almost had him convinced she wanted to fight, until Kalvarian stepped closer, placed his hand back on her shoulder and shook his head. Nael bit her lip and stepped back once more. _Unorthodox as he is, Khary would like him,_ thought Saetan as he looked over at the young Warlord. Khardeen was still trying to keep Chaosti calm, not so much physically holding him back as warning him that Gabrielle would have his balls if he attacked anyone the Coven invited.  
Saetan couldn’t help but wonder who in all the Realms had thought it was a good idea to bring so many young, temperamental men under one roof. Of course, the answer rested as it always did in Jaenelle, and the way strong personalities seemed to gravitate toward her.  
The door to the private drawing room opened, and Karla, the young Glacian Queen, bounced out, followed more sedately by Gabrielle and Kalush. Morghann stayed back, leaning against the door frame as Karla rushed forward to green the guests. Though her posture was relaxed and friendly, the green eyes that focused on the new duo had no hint of emotion.  
It unnerved the High Lord. When a Queen went cold, even the anger of a Warlord Prince paled in comparison. The psychic scent emanating from the Coven drawing room was a mixture of rage and determination, and he couldn’t tell which was more frightening.  
Ignoring Saetan, which really wasn’t a surprise, Karla all but shouted, “You kept us waiting!”  
Kalvarian blinked, head tilted in confusion. “You knew we were coming?”  
“Well, of course!” Karla said, grabbing his hands. “Jaenelle told us the moment you went through the Gate.”  
“But Nael never told anyone but--”  
Before Saetan could stop him, Lucivar growled, “I’m sure your Queen can speak for herself.”  
Nael shot him a dagger glance, but it was resulting challenge from Kalvarian that made the Eyrien clench his jaws and settle into a fighting stance. The younger Warlord Prince was drawing on his Jewel, and the Ebon-gray Lucivar wore pulsed in response. Nael flinched, and the challenge of the Purple Dusk faded.  
Karla watched this all with a small smile before Kalvarian looked at her and mumbled, “You knew, but you didn’t tell them.”  
That smile morphed into a wicked smirk. Turning her attention to Lucivar, who was still riding the edge of heated fury, she said, “It’s much more fun to see their reactions. Kiss kiss!”  
Lucivar snarled, but Karla was already dragging Kalvarianby the arm to the drawing room. Nael stayed behind, watching them leave until Kalush pulled the door shut behind them, leaving the boy alone with the Coven. Saetan glanced quizzically at Andulvar, wondering why the girls had taken Kalvarian rather than their Sister. Morton, Chaosti, and Khardeen were left outside as well, the door shut in their faces when they tried to follow the girls. Clearly, this was a situation they were not allowed to interrupt.  
Stepping back from the door, they turned back to the center of the hall, their eyes flicking back and forth between each other and the High Lord. They were expecting him to know what to do, but damn if he did.  
With the door closed, Nael wrinkled her nose and turned back to face father and son. She didn’t seem to notice Andulvar standing beside them; he could see her eyes moving up and down Lucivar’s body, then his, but she didn’t spare Andulvar a second glance. Whether she realized it was an insult or not he couldn’t tell.  
It took him a moment to realize she was sizing him up. She certainly wasn’t shrinking away from him-- then again, _none_ of the Coven feared him like most women. Karla had all but walked over him when she came to see Jaenelle. Compared to her, Nael couldn’t be that heinously annoying.  
Could she?  
Finally she met his gaze. “High Lord,” she began, then frowned. Why did it feel like he was toe to toe with another Warlord Prince when Kalvarian was in the other room, a room filled with the most bewildering females the Realms had to offer? “About my... brother...” she finally muttered, eyes dropping to the floor.  
“Your brother?” Saetan asked mildly. That certainly explained the similarities in appearance. If not clear in their postures, one only had to glance at two pairs of identical moss-green eyes to know they were related. Only children who had grown up with each other would be able to give a man the same exact look when their attention turned to him.  
Such as the looks the Coven could give him, and did on a regular basis.  
“Kalvarian,” Nael muttered. “He’s not very confident with other people around-- especially males.” Judging by the challenge he had silently issued before, Saetan highly doubted the boy lacked confidence. When he didn’t respond, she looked around as if groping for the right words. Finally she sighed and looked back up at him, frowning. “You won’t-- they won’t hurt him.”  
It wasn’t a question as her nervousness would have led him to believe. At the same time, it didn’t feel like a Queen’s order. It felt like a threat, except instead of a female’s caution to a near equally ranked male, Saetan had the queer feeling that the warning was between males.  
“The Coven might confuse him, but they won’t cause any harm. The boyos,” he glanced at the three young men, wondering where the other four were, “will warm up to him with the acceptance of the Ladies.”  
She nodded slightly, warily meeting his gold eyes with her green. “Good,” she mumbled, rubbing her forearm. Her fingertips ran over the scratches and shallow cuts slowly, as if subconsciously mapping them out and evaluating them while her thoughts were directed at something else. After a moment of silence, she sheepishly grinned and asked, “You, ah... wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat?”  
It was a familiar question, another memory of the day he became the unsuspecting uncle of nine young witches and their exasperated companions. Saetan returned the smile, turning to indicate the boyos. “Ask Khardeen about a trip to the kitchen. I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige.”  
Nael’s nose wrinkled. “He’s not the prick with the pointy ears, right?”  
He bit back a laugh, but it was Lucivar who replied, “The only Prick around here has wings.”  
She arched an eyebrow, and for the first time, Nael gave Andulvar that odd examination. It was different than Jaenelle, whose bottomless sapphire stare could trap a man before he knew what hit him. So, too, was it different from the rest of the Coven who, while more than capable of making any male squirm when their eyes were on him, didn’t give him that intense feeling that he was being observed and sized up for a fight.  
In fact, the look she was giving Andulvar, and had already given Saetan and Lucivar, was most reminiscent of the challenge Chaosti had given upon first meeting the High Lord.  
“Unless I’m mistaken, both of you have wings,” she said finally, leaving the unspoken question in the air.  
“He meant himself,” growled Andulvar, and Nael eyed the both of them. The corner of her lips twitched as though she was fighting not to smile.  
Pushing the thought from his mind, Saetan quieted the two Eyriens with a look. At least they were only dragging each other into the argument. “Go on, Lady-- and do send the ‘prick with the pointy ears’ our way. I would like to know the whereabouts of my wayward daughter.”  
Interest sparked in the green eyes, their color lightening noticeably. “You have a daughter?”  
Gold eyes met jade evenly, though it wasn’t the look of a Warlord Prince to a Queen. Rather it was the look of a man who had grown used to the role of an uncle to the young women of the Coven, and had an inkling that this girl would soon be among those he counted as Jaenelle’s family-- and therefore his.  
“Jaenelle is my daughter,” he murmured quietly, searching for any change in her psychic scent. When he was first introduced to the Coven, Jaenelle had needed to distinguish him from her birth family. Many of the Coven knew of the atrocities her true parents had forced her into, and it took her hasty explanations to keep the males from accusing or outright attacking the High Lord-- Chaosti and Kaetien in particular.  
But there was no sense of recognition, nor did her expression change when she asked, “Who is Jaenelle?”  
He blinked. If she didn't know who Jaenelle was, then why had she and her brother come to the Hall seeking the Coven? Cautiously, he answered. “Jaenelle is the Lady whom we serve.”  
Nael’s eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed with wariness. “So the Lady the woman at the Gate mentioned is your daughter.”  
"Which Gate?" he asked softly, swallowing a quiet hiss of fury. If Cassandra had known these two were coming and hadn’t told him... She could easily have sent a message along the Black if she was directing two teenagers to the Hall. Why didn’t she? He wondered if it had anything to do with the pair’s various injuries, and if perhaps their hasty healing had not been a product of clumsy teenagers, but rather the rapid, minimal healing given by a witch under pressure.  
"Uhm..." Nael shrugged and looked down as if she were thinking. "I think they call it Cassandra's Altar in Terrielle. I don't know if the name is the same here."  
"Yes, it is," Saetan whispered, "named for the one who tends it." He would have to speak with her later, ask her what was so important that it simply slipped her mind to inform him of the arrival of this Queen and her brother.  
Nael gave him a peculiar look. "You're, uhm, not happy with that, are you?"  
The feeling of being challenged was gone, replaced by a mixed sense of curiosity and worry. He couldn't tell if the latter was for herself, for him, or even for Cassandra. After a moment of his focused silence, she stepped backwards and then vaguely waved at the trio of males standing by the wall. 

"I think I'm going to ask Khardeen about that snack," she mumbled lamely, clearly unsure of what to do when the High Lord of Hell had gone so quiet and still. She inched away, then turned, watching him over her shoulder as she nervously approached the boyos.  
She would have to be taught the Protocol for dealing with an angered Warlord Prince. Not to turn her back, not to run-- and it was no less running away for her measured step. What she could do with her brother she couldn’t with anyone else, and that run, that barely controlled fleeing would trigger every predatory instinct in a Warlord Prince if she wasn’t careful.

Chaosti’s telltale growl reached his ears as Saetan shook his head and turned to Andulvar. In the seconds before the young man came in earshot, he murmured, "I will be paying Cassandra a visit later tonight." Then he turned to the approaching male, meeting the Dea al Mon's stare evenly. "Chaosti."

"High Lord," the young Warlord Prince answered.

"Do you know where Jaenelle is?"

Chaosti's forest-blue eyes brightened, anger momentarily forgotten. "In the Keep's library. She wanted to look something up, I think."

Saetan nodded to Andulvar, who left the main hall in the direction of the Keep's entrance. Putting his hand on Chaosti's shoulder, Saetan voiced the second thought that had been circulating in his head. "Does Nael seem a bit odd to you?"

"She's getting on my nerves faster than Karla ever did," he answered in a low voice, glaring in the direction of Khardeen, who was leading the Queen to the kitchens. Even Khary seemed unsure of her, though as always he was polite and gentle, making light conversation. "And that's saying something," Chaosti added after a moment, watching Morton follow after his Brother.

She did remind him of Karla. Before she and Khardeen turned the corner, she cast a glance over her shoulder at the drawing room door, a frown evident on her face as she moved out of sight. When she could no longer see him, Saetan gave Chaosti a wry smile. "We'll have to keep those two witches from wreaking more havoc than the Coven already does, won't we?"

Chaosti grinned. "Or we could just be very far away when they do it."

Saetan gave him a stern look. "Would you really inflict that on your Brothers?"

"Would you rather we left them all alone with you?"  
Some challenges were almost enjoyable, but the thought of being left alone with the Coven and whatever idea they got into their heads... he suppressed a shudder as he spoke. "Prince, there is no place in Kaeleer that you could hide from me if you really did."

As Chaosti blanched, Lucivar cut in, "And no place in any Realm you could hide from them if my father were to suggest that their boyos had declined to share their companionship."  
No male wanted to have the attention of the entire Coven focused solely on him. Chaosti groaned at the same time Saetan and Lucivar chuckled. Even a Dea al Mon Warlord Prince had to admit that some battles weren't worth fighting.


	3. Curious Questioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the coven take care of Kalvarian, Khary and Morton find themselves talking with Niael. They only wish they could figure out what is what she's hiding... and what she's running from.

Morton watched the young Queen with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. She didn’t make him bristle like she did Chaosti, and beneath her prickliness-- something he was well accustomed to, living with Karla-- he could sense her uncertainty. Though she snapped and snarled at Chaosti, with only Morton and Khary around her she seemed to be less aggressive. He had a hunch it was due to their being Warlords, and less intrusive than their more snarly Brother. That didn’t stop her from asking some very frustrating questions.

He knew from the buzz of mixed excitement and muted worry he felt through his link to Karla that the coven was waiting for Jaenelle before they gave Nael every answer she sought, and many she didn’t. Finding the median ground between what he would get in trouble for answering before them and what he could provide for the curious Queen was like dancing on quicksand. Though he knew the snarls would be the superficial ones of witches eager to meet a Sister, Morton still disliked the idea of having the crankiness of nine women directed at him. Especially _those_ women.

In between questions, Nael attacked the sandwiches Mrs. Beale had provided with a ferocity the wolf pack might have admired. He attested it to whatever gave her and her brother the scratches he could see, but when he inquired she evaded with vague answers such as, “bramble patch.”  
 _Thorn bushes don’t give you bloody knuckles_ , he thought, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from pressing further. Clearly, this was one topic she would only answer when the coven asked.

Regarding the coven, he hoped they finished their conversation with Kalvarian soon. He didn’t like it when Karla kept him in the dark, though he knew she didn’t mean to. The girls had been fidgeting and nervous ever since waking that morning, and more-so after Jaenelle left for the Keep’s library “to look for something” an hour before Nael and Kalvarian arrived. Whatever had happened to the young siblings was enough to upset even Kalush, well known among the boyos for her milder nature. He knew it had something to do with the cuts on Nael's arms, and the one on Kalvarian's cheek. He also knew the coven would make them explain everything, but it still made him nervous watching Nael rub at her injured knuckles between bites of sandwich.

If she was this ravenous, her brother had to be starving. Before he, Khary, and Chaosti had been kicked out, they ate everything that was brought to the drawing room. He hoped the girls would break from questioning the poor boy long enough to get a meal in him. The pair didn’t seem malnourished, but their ordeal had clearly taken a toll on them.

The lightest prod from his Jewel’s power had Khardeen’s attention. Morton’s eyes flicked to Nael, then met Khary’s again. *Do you think they’ll remember to feed him?*

*Of course they will.* His amusement rumbled through the spear thread. *Khalush or Morghann will remind them, and then they’ll give him more than he could possibly eat.*  
Again Morton chewed his cheek, but this time it was to keep from laughing aloud. Khary gave him a cheeky grin. Nael’s back was to him; he could smile all he wanted without drawing the ire of the young Queen.

Or worse, the curiosity.

When he looked down at Nael again, those moss green eyes were fixed on his face, though he couldn’t tell what intent lay beyond the gaze. She didn’t seem to see either male as a threat, but Morton couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was in the presence of someone with a higher rank than their Jewels betrayed.

_Of course she is _, he reminded himself. _She’s a Queen.___

__Khary had noticed it too; the grin was gone and replaced with narrowed, confused eyes and frowning lips. His head tilted slightly as he watched Nael straighten and nibble the sandwich she was still holding. She gave him an uncertain smile, and Morton returned it, trying to mask his bewilderment. That gaze was unnervingly male._ _

__Just as Morton opened his mouth to ask why she was looking at him that way, Khary suddenly said, "Nael, your brother's name is Eyrien, isn't it?"_ _

__When Nael turned to face Khardeen, Morton shot him a quizzical look. *It got her attention off you, didn't it?* the other male said without taking his eyes off of the girl._ _

__"Sort of," she mumbled, taking a smaller bite of the sandwich. "My mother had a friend growing up, a young Eyrien servant girl. They were inseparable, but she... didn't make it."_ _

__That was a mild way of putting it, considering what Lucivar had told them about Terriellan courts._ _

__"Mother was devastated. When we were born, our father wanted to name us, but she refused. Said our names had been chosen long before he seeded her, before he'd ever met her._ _

__"Her friend's name was Kallian. Father insisted a boy child couldn't have a feminine name, much less an Eyrien one, and my uncle says they fought and fought for days. Finally, she relented, promising she would give Kallie the masculine name instead. She did, just... not how he expected."_ _

___Kalvarian._ Yes, Morton thought, it _was_ an odd choice, especially for a Tacean boy born across the Realm from Askavi and the Eyrien war camps, a people they were so drastically different from. Even stranger to combine the gendered endings, make them one and the same._ _

__But... as he considered the brief whiff he'd gotten of the boy's psychic scene, that neutral blend of masculine and feminine, he had to admit it was well suited to him._ _

__"I suppose your father was displeased," Khary prompted, an expression of polite interest on his face._ _

__Nael laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "'Displeased' doesn't begin to cover it." The smile faded, and she looked back to the other Warlord. “Ah, Morton, right?”_ _

__He nodded slightly._ _

__Her left hand clutched the side of her trousers. “When will I be able to see my brother?”_ _

__Morton blinked. “Whenever the coven is done with him, I suppose.”_ _

__“When the Lady comes back from the Keep,” Khary added._ _

__“The Lady.” The way she said it sounded like she was tasting the word, rolling it around in her mouth and trying to decide whether it tasted good enough to swallow. “The Lady.” This time he could tell she was thinking, assigning something within her head. “We all really thought... the stories were too good to be true.”_ _

__Morton frowned. “What stories?”_ _

__“Tacea is close to Cassandra's Altar," she began, pausing as if searching for the words. "We've always been aware of our Kaeleer Brothers and Sisters, had limited trade agreements with some of the Territories close to the Gate. The merchants... well, they share tales of a Lady with great power and a kind heart. We often hear rumors of her gifts, of her gentle touch and how she heals the sick and injured.” Shaking her head, Nael looked at the floor, at her scuffed and muddy boots. “The Lady... One of the rumors said...”_ _

__“Said what?” he gently murmured, sending a private flick at Karla. She didn’t respond._ _

__Nael sighed. “They said she could look at you-- no, not at... through you, like she was staring right at your soul. Like she could see everything in you all right there like words in a book.”_ _

__She wasn’t far off from the truth. Jaenelle did have a way of looking into a person at their deepest level and leaving them feeling at their most vulnerable. She didn’t intend to, but it was part of her power. For some adults, it could be unsettling. For others, and for children such as Morton had been when they first met, it was a glorious feeling, if only because they knew her just as she knew them._ _

__Well, mostly._ _

__“She does have that effect on people,” Morton admitted, smiling at the young Queen. “She can’t really help it.”_ _

__“But it’s true?” Nael was giving him a very strange look; curiosity mixed with fear, all the while rubbing her split knuckles and agitating the wounds. Again he looked at Khary, who was watching the door to the kitchen. The siblings were hiding something, and Morton wasn’t entirely sure how much it had to do with the various scrapes each bore. _Bramble patch, indeed.__ _

___Finally, it was Khardeen who gave her the answer. “Yes, it is true.” As Nael took another bite of her sandwich, chewing far too frantically, he continued. “She saw through all of us when we first met her. There wasn’t a thing we could have hidden from her, not that we wanted to.”_ _ _

___Brown skin blanched to a sick gray. The boys didn’t have time to question what it meant before a light psychic tap-- more of a summoning, really-- called them back to the hall._ _ _

___"She's home," Khary murmured, waving Nael toward the door._ _ _


End file.
